


Borgias Do Not Forgive

by 50251sid



Category: The Borgias, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Revenge, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50251sid/pseuds/50251sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cesare deserts Lucrezia for France, she vows revenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Petrification

“I beg you, Brother, not to leave me. I’ve given you my all. I need you. I love you.”

“I’ve no choice, Lucrezia. Father has ordered me to France on a diplomatic mission.”

“And to find a wife!”

“That too.”

“Cesare!” She flung her arms around his neck. He disengaged them.

“There’s nothing to discuss. I have to do this. What happened before…it was a mistake. There’s no place in either your life or mine for it. We must forget it ever happened. Love your husband, Alfonso. I will love my wife. Then you and I can be happy.”

“I can’t be happy without you.”

He knew the tears that brimmed in her eyes burned white-hot. It killed him to hurt her. But he must.

“Yes, you can. And you will.”

“I love you, Cesare!”

“I love you, too, Lucrezia. But I love you as my sister, nothing more.”

She flinched as if he had slapped her. She drew a sharp breath that was more of a hiss.

“You’ll thank me one day, Sis.”

Before his eyes, she metamorphosed, turning to stone.

“I have no doubt I will, _Brother._ But not for what you think. Go to France. Do as you will. But remember this: you will never be free of me. I am your blood and bone and heart and spirit. You can no more live without me than you can live without air to breathe. The day will come –mark me!– when you will kneel before me and beg me to love you and forgive you for this. And, as I am a Borgia, I WILL NOT!”

She turned on her heel and walked off, her back ramrod straight.

Cesare left for France in the predawn hours. He sneaked out.

 

Cesare Borgia had done something terrible to Lucrezia; Micheletto was sure of it. He had crushed her soul, killed her spirit, turned her icy cold and hard. Only Cesare had the power to hurt her that severely. Micheletto knew that his master had been unable to deliver on his promise to ensure that Lucrezia could take Giovanni with her to Naples. That caused her great sorrow. But it would not have made her draw so deeply into herself that no emotion could escape. Not joy, not sorrow, not laughter, not tears. She did not smile now. Or cry. Rarely spoke. Most attributed her stone façade to sorrow at the thought of her imminent departure for Naples, leaving behind her child, her parents, her home. Micheletto knew her better than that. He also knew that she had spent her wedding night with Cesare. Awake and alert for possible treachery from Caterina Sforza and her allies, Micheletto had seen Lucrezia slip into Cesare’s bedroom and knew precisely how long she had remained there. He had seen the transcendent joy on her lovely young countenance when she departed, and knew very well what had put it there. And he had seen that radiant face crumple into anguish the next morning when Cesare refused to speak to her or even meet her gaze.

Micheletto loved Cesare Borgia. But he cursed him for his treatment of Lucrezia. He thought him contemptible, cowardly, heartless. Use a lady in the dark and then turn squeamish and moral by the cold light of day? Was she not the same woman he had welcomed into his bed the night before? Did he not know who she was when he embraced her? Where was this rectitude when he was caressing her flesh and spilling his seed into her belly?

Micheletto was glad he had been left behind to look after Lucrezia, for he no longer wished to serve his master. He could not erase the pain Cesare’s abandonment has caused her, but he could try to mitigate it somewhat.

An opportunity presented itself very quickly. The King of Naples demanded that Lucrezia leave behind any and all persons who were associated with Rome. That included her maidservant, Cecelia, with whom she was close. Cesare had been able to negotiate an agreement that Micheletto be permitted to accompany Lucrezia, but no other Roman attendant would be allowed. Lucrezia’s stony façade betrayed no emotion upon hearing that she would be deprived of Cecelia, but Micheletto knew her too well to be fooled. He took action.

In Lucrezia’s sitting room, he sank to one knee before her and bowed his auburn head.

“A moment of your time, my Lady, if you please.”

“What is it, Micheletto?”

“I hope I have not overstepped, but I have gotten permission for Cecelia to accompany you and serve you in Naples.”

“How did you do that?”

“I sent word to the king that Cecelia is my mistress, and as she is agreeable and obedient, and notably free from disease, I would be loath to have to replace her. The king is a man; he saw the logic in letting me keep her.”

Lucrezia’s stony reserve wavered for just a moment. She reached out and stroked Micheletto’s long hair and then, cupping his bearded chin, raised his face to look into his eyes.

“Thank you, Micheletto.”

He pressed his forehead against the palm of her hand.

“I am honored to be of service to my lady. I would do anything for you.”

“Stay close to me. I feel I will need your protection in the days to come.”

“You have it.”

 

Lucrezia kissed Giovanni and handed him to her mother.

“Look after my son.”

Vannozza was weeping. Lucrezia’s eyes were dry as a desert.

“Daughter, we will care for him as if he were our own.”

The Holy Father kissed Lucrezia’s cheek.

“Goodbye, Father,” she said tonelessly, and walked away.

Micheletto followed on her heels.

 

In the entourage to Naples, Lucrezia and Cecelia rode in a coach while Alfonso and Micheletto escorted them on horseback. Lucrezia sat in stoic silence, gazing out the window while Cecelia read to her from Seneca. Occasionally, her eyes would meet Micheletto’s, and he would catch the tiniest flicker of yearning in her glance, visible only to him. Then Micheletto would be aware that he had a living heart within him, for it hurt.

 

Alfonso was baffled. Where had his Lucrezia gone, the charming, lively young woman who had pronounced him as sweet as an apple on the tree? In her place was this unresponsive sculpture, beautiful as any Grecian Aphrodite, but equally cold as the marble from which it was carved. She did not refuse his kisses and caresses, but she did not return them, merely tolerated them. He tried to lie with her, to arouse her, but to no avail. Unwilling to force himself on her, Alfonso stopped sleeping in Lucrezia’s bed and retired to his own quarters. He began to go out at night and return late, smelling strongly of wine and harlots. He made sure his bride was aware of this, hoping to sting her into caring and jealousy, but she remained impassive. Alfonso blamed himself for Lucrezia’s coldness. She must be bitterly disappointed in him for not insisting to his uncle, the king, that Giovanni be allowed to accompany her to Naples. And he was partly right.

 

While Cecelia was bathing her, Lucrezia would occasionally sigh with something akin to pleasure, and would thank the maidservant for her attentions. In the evenings, by candlelight, Cecelia would read to Lucrezia and Micheletto while the three of them sat together before a fire as autumn shortened the days and cooled the nights. After Cecelia had dressed her lady for bed and tucked her in, she would go with Micheletto to his room which adjoined Lucrezia’s, since she should be seen to be his mistress. Sometimes she and Micheletto, sharing a bed, surprised themselves with feelings of affection and desire for each other. For they were united in their love of Lucrezia.

Micheletto slept very little because of his anxiety for his lady’s safety. Lucrezia noticed the dark circles under his eyes, and his haggard, drawn face.

“He has trouble falling asleep and then he cannot stay asleep,” Cecelia said. “He worries for you.”

Lucrezia asked Micheletto to sleep in her room, hoping that being near to her would allow him to relax his vigilance a little. Cecelia would continue to sleep in Micheletto’s adjoining chamber so that none would be aware of the new arrangement. At first, Micheletto would lie on the floor, but soon he gave in to Lucrezia’s coaxing and slept next to her in her bed. He was able to give himself over to deeper slumber, knowing that he was at her side to protect her. In the dark, in the silence of night, Lucrezia would let down her stone façade and weep. Quietly, muffling her sobs with her bedding, she would give vent to her broken heart and her longing for her son, and for Cesare. Micheletto heard her crying, but, unsure what to do, awkward, he pretended to be asleep. His chest ached, his arms ached to enfold her, to comfort her, but he remained motionless, until one night he could bear it no longer. He turned over and embraced Lucrezia, stroking her hair and crooning to her.

“Shhh, shhh, my lady. You are not alone. I am here. I know of your sorrow.”

She pressed herself against his chest.

“Oh, Micheletto, I am so unhappy! I miss my son.”

“I promise you I will find a way to return Giovanni to you. Have patience and trust me. You will have your child back in your arms.”

Lucrezia searched Micheletto’s face and knew he would keep his vow.

Neither of them spoke of Cesare, but Micheletto knew that Lucrezia wept for him too. And it galled him, for Cesare did not deserve her tears.


	2. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein disastrous mistakes become undeniable

Cesare had been in France for several months now, a time filled with frustration which he had no choice but to swallow. Fully expecting to court and marry Carlotta of Naples, he was humiliated by her refusal to even consider his suit. She was not about to marry "a priest, the bastard of a priest”, she declared, and Louis, king of France, gallantly did not force her to wed against her own wishes. Instead, he offered Cesare a lesser, but still desirable prize, Charlotte d'Albret, who was deemed acceptable, being rich, beautiful and sister of the king of Navarre.

He took her to bed on their wedding night, this woman whom he could legitimately claim as his own, could love openly and honorably, and get heirs upon. He knew her body eight times that night. His nuptial performance was spoken of in tones both hushed and lurid, but no one realized that Cesare had been driven solely by disbelief. This woman, this genuine wife with whom he had expected to feel righteous, contented, sanctified domestic happiness had left him empty of anything except shame and despair. He kept going back to her, desperately floundering about for the gratification he knew he should be getting, to which he should be entitled, for which he had broken Lucrezia’s heart. It was not there. And it never would be.

What had he done?

Devastated Lucrezia with his brutal rejection of her love, terrified his young bride with his brutal nuptial demands. Charlotte cringed when she heard his voice or his footsteps. Her smile was forced. She would submit to her marital duties as was required of a good wife, but she trembled so violently in their bed that he soon slept elsewhere.

Was that all he was good for, to cause hurt to women?

Lying alone in a narrow bed, Cesare recalled the night he had spent with Lucrezia, her body warm and yielding, her kisses impassioned, her arms and her legs winding around him. He had caressed her tenderly at first, then more eagerly and he realized that his desire for her was matched by hers for him, and all those dreams, those wishes, those fantasies, were becoming reality. Here in this moment, in his bed, was the fulfillment of his lifelong yearnings. Lucrezia. His beloved. His only love. Lying beneath him, receiving his thrusts, imploring him to spill himself into her, and he did, emptying his body and his mind and his soul into her and finally, unbelievably, knowing a sense of peace, of serenity, of joy. Of home.

_Oh, Lucrezia! You were right. You ARE my blood and my bone, my heart and my spirit._

He had his army. He had his dukedom. His legal wife was pregnant with a legitimate heir. He had accomplished what he had set out to accomplish in France. Time to leave. Time to go home.

He left with much ceremony, as befits a great lord. He took with him his army and the favor of the king. He did not take with him his wife. Knowing he would never see her again, nor the child she carried, he left her openly. He did not sneak out.

 

The king of Naples was dead. He had died by misadventure while boar hunting, falling into a pond stocked with lampreys that had devoured his flesh.

Micheletto informed Lucrezia of the tragic accident, having accompanied the royal hunting party while she remained at home. That same day, he dispatched a messenger to Rome, sending for Giovanni.

When the child’s entourage could be seen in the distance, Micheletto strode out to meet it, taking Giovanni from the arms of his nurse and carrying him into the plaza where King Ferdinand’s funeral procession was assembling. Lucrezia was descending a staircase when she saw her servant bearing Giovanni through the parting crowd, and quickened her steps. Micheletto went down on one knee and presented the child to his mother. She stroked Micheletto’s hair and whispered his name. He stood up, towering over her, and pronounced very deliberately that no one would ever again come between mother and child. Carrying Giovanni, Lucrezia strolled insouciantly over to Alfonso, with Micheletto in attendance right behind.

 

Cecelia entered Lucrezia’s sitting room and curtseyed.

“You have a letter, my lady.”

Lucrezia looked at the seal and her hands began to tremble. She glanced at Micheletto, seated to her right.

“It’s from _him_. He says he is on his way to Naples. He signs the letter, ‘From your brother who loves you as himself.’”

Cecelia smiled.

“Surely you will be delighted to see the Duke!”

“The last time we were together, Cecelia, we had…differences. It did not make for a happy parting.”

“But by now the Duke must have forgotten any ill feelings between the two of you.”

“Perhaps, Cecelia. But I have not forgotten.”

“Ah!”

Micheletto spoke softly.

“Courage, my lady. You are strong. As strong as he is.”

“Am I, Micheletto?”

“You are, my lady. Strong enough to forgive him, if that is your wish. And strong enough to withhold forgiveness.”

“I am a Borgia. Borgias do not forgive.”


	3. Obfuscation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein revenge is exacted

_Lucrezia, Lucrezia, I am coming to you. I was so wrong. Such a fool. I will make it up to you. I will never desert you again, for I know now that you were right. You are my other self._

 

When Cesare and his small entourage arrived at the king’s palace in Naples, he was met by a welcoming party, but Lucrezia was not among them. His eyes searched frantically for her, but she was not there. Nor was Micheletto. Cesare sent for him.

“Where is my sister? Why did she not come to greet me?”

“I know not, my lord. She said nothing of it to me.”

“And why were you not there?”

“I attended Lady Lucrezia and could not leave her side.”

“Well, I will have a bath now and then go to see her.”

“I will send a servant to wait upon you.”

“I want you to tend to me, Micheletto. No other.”

“I serve Lady Lucrezia, Lord Cesare. No other.”

“How dare you be insolent to me?”

“Pardon, my lord. I meant no insolence. I merely remind you that I am now in the service of my lady. I am your man no longer.”

“Since when?”

“Since you gave me over to her when you went to France.”

“I did not ‘give you over.’ I lent you to her. I am returned and have need of you now.”

“My lady needs me more.”

“Do the two of you conspire against me? Where is your loyalty?”

“If my lady instructs me to serve you, of course I will obey her.”

“Damn you, Micheletto! Send someone to me now!”

Micheletto bowed and left Cesare’s presence.

 

The bath and change of clothing did nothing to cool down Cesare’s irritation at being snubbed by Lucrezia and Micheletto. He sent word to her demanding to see her at once. She replied that she was otherwise engaged and would see him at dinner.

The Borgia Bull began to snort.

 

Cesare was seated to the right of Prince Raphael, one of the two principal contenders for the throne of Naples. His half-brother and rival, Prince Frederigo, sat directly opposite Raphael, and they glared at each other through the entire meal. Cesare, on the other hand, cast imploring glances at Lucrezia, at the far end of the table. Her face remained pleasantly nonchalant, and she did not hold his gaze.

Her beauty and aloofness made him desperate.

Lucrezia claimed a headache and excused herself from the table. Cesare followed her to her room. He caught her and embraced her. She stiffened and turned her head away from his kiss.

“Lucrezia, my love. I have missed you so. Let me kiss you.”

She broke away from his arms.

“I am happy to see my dear brother. I trust your wife is well.”

“Lucrezia…please…I know I hurt you. Forgive me.”

“For what, dear brother? I recall no ill will between us. What need have you of my forgiveness?”

“My god, Lucrezia, will you torture me? I beg you to allow me to atone to you. I pushed you away. I was wrong. I am sorry, so very sorry.”

“I can only remember that I have need to thank you for something. What was it? Oh, yes! For reminding me of our proper places in each other’s lives.”

Cesare sank to his knees and threw his arms around Lucrezia’s waist.

“My love, I implore you. Forgive me. Love me. I know you love me.”

“Indeed I do, Cesare. I love you as my brother, nothing more.”

She disengaged his arms from around her and stepped away.

“You must leave now, Brother. I have a headache and am fatigued.”

“Lucrezia, you cannot be sending me away. We made love together. Don’t you want that again?”

“Brother, how dare you say such vile things? If such an act _had_ ever occurred, it were far better forgotten, and most certainly never repeated. Now please go.”

The bedroom door opened and Micheletto and Cecelia entered.

“My lady,” Cecelia said sweetly. “We’ve come to tend you. You should lie down now. I’ll bring you cool cloths for your forehead and read quietly to you while you rest.”

Micheletto stepped between Lucrezia and Cesare.

“My lady is unwell, Lord Cesare. It is time for you to leave.”

Astounded, disbelieving, Cesare departed.

Lucrezia began to shake and then covered her mouth with her hand. Cecelia rushed to her with a basin and held her lady’s head while she vomited.

Cesare left for Rome the next morning.


	4. Capitulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein enough revenge has been exacted

Micheletto lay beside Lucrezia and held her hand.

“Well, my lady, do you feel that you have had your revenge?” He could not bring himself to call her ‘Lucrezia’, even though he slept in her bed.

“I do, Micheletto.”

“If you had decided to forgive Cesare, he would be here in your bed now instead of me. Was taking your revenge worth giving him up?”

Lucrezia was silent for a moment as she pondered.

“Yes, Micheletto. Yes it was.”

They nodded at each other in mutual understanding.

 

The Neapolitan chess game of succession played itself out, and Frederigo, with Lucrezia’s manipulations, prevailed. He and his court journeyed to Rome for his coronation by Pope Alexander. The new king requested that Lucrezia be appointed Papal ambassador to Naples and assured that Giovanni would be welcome to remain with his mother.

 

In an act of deliberate bitchiness, Lucrezia paid a visit to Cesare in his bedroom as he slept naked beneath his bed sheets. Lying next to his slumbering body, she ran her soft hand over his chest, circling his nipple with a delicate finger. The sensation startled him awake and he reacted instinctively, thrusting out his hand and gripping Lucrezia by the throat. She laughed lightly, like silvery bells, like music.

“Peace, brother. Peace.”

Keeping his hand locked around her neck, he pressed his lips to her throat and then took hold of her fingers which had continued to tease him. She smiled coyly.

“I remember sleeping with you in your bed as a child. How I loved feeling safe in the protecting arms of my big brother!”

“Your brother would welcome you into his bed again.”

“Alas, those innocent days are over, dear Cesare. As you took such pains to remind me. Tell me. Now that you have your army, and your title and your wife, are you not happy?”

“You know I am not.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

“No? What more could you want?”

“You know very well what I want. And you? Have you all that you want?”

“I have my husband, and my child. I have everything I want.”

He slipped her index finger into his mouth and sucked on it.

“Everything?”

“Almost everything.”

She started to rise from the bed, but he caught her.

“I beg you, don’t go.”

“Once I begged you not to go, but you did.”

“And if you let me, I will atone for the rest of my life for that.”

“Can a Borgia forgive?”

“You said it takes a Borgia to love a Borgia. Perhaps it takes a Borgia to forgive a Borgia.”

She inhaled sharply, her heart pierced.

“Do you love me, Brother?”

“Yes.”

“As your sister, and nothing more?”

“I hate myself for ever having said that to you. It was a lie. But I thought it best that you believe it. I thought you would be better off.”

“Better off without you? When you left, it nearly killed me.”

“And it nearly killed me too. We are meant for each other. There is no alternative. Stay with me tonight, Lucrezia. Let us make up for lost time.”

“How do I know you won’t be overcome with guilt again and turn away from me in the morning?”

“I learned a very hard lesson, and I am no longer a fool.”

She stood up then and slipped off her robe. Wearing only a thin chemise, she got into bed beside him, sliding under the blankets that he had raised for her.

He pushed the chemise off her shoulders, revealing her voluptuous breasts. The last time he had tried to touch her, she was hard like marble, cold like marble. Now she was soft under his hands, yielding and warm.

She bent forward to kiss his parted lips.

“How do you love me, Cesare?”

“As a man loves a woman. As one Borgia loves another Borgia.”

“Without guilt? Without regret?”

“Without guilt or regret, without shame or hesitation. You are mine.”

 

In the cold light of dawn, Cesare kissed and embraced Lucrezia and made love to her one more time before letting her slip back to her own room.


	5. Ramification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein our tale comes to a conclusion

Alfonso had to die. There was no alternative. He was becoming troublesome.

He had publicly accused Cesare of being Lucrezia’s lover and had challenged him, pathetically, to a duel with swords in the guise of merely sparring. Cesare had not even bothered to deny the accusations, and had disposed of his brother-in-law’s attack with the same contempt with which he had tossed away his blade afterward.

Alfonso stood in the way of France and Naples. Cesare and Louis and Naples.

Poor Alfonso, whose only desire was to love his wife and live quietly with her, leaving the game of power to others. He had been ground under the wheels of Borgia ambition. Claiming that Alfonso had first fired a bolt from a crossbow at him, Cesare had done away with him. Lucrezia forgave her brother for that, too.

The Holy Father tried to comfort his daughter, reminding her that God had sent consolation in her widowhood with the child she carried in her womb. Lucrezia knew perfectly well that the child was not Alfonso’s. The seed of such a weak man could never have taken hold within a woman like herself.

When she told Cesare of her condition, he had kissed her hotly, claiming possession of her entire being.

Over Lucrezia’s midsection, Cecelia held a gold ring hung on a ribbon and determined by how it swung that she was carrying a boy. Cesare slept in his sister’s bed that night, caressing her belly. He swaggered for the rest of the pregnancy.

Blushing, Cecelia confided to Lucrezia that she was also with child. Cesare clapped a stunned Micheletto on the back. The ring on the ribbon revealed that Cecelia’s baby was a girl.

Cesare and Lucrezia settled a dowry on Cecelia and she and Micheletto were married shortly thereafter.

Lucrezia’s baby would be born about two months before Cecelia’s. Micheletto wanted his wife to leave Lucrezia’s employ and retire to a home he would provide for her, but the two women would not be parted. Cecelia remained in a Vatican apartment close by as Lucrezia’s bosom companion, her servant no longer.

 

Rodrigo Borgia arrived in the early hours of morning, entering the world with lusty howls, the very image of his Uncle Cesare.

Michelina Corella had red hair and her mother’s sweet disposition.


End file.
